


I Believe You

by Calworks



Series: Daily Drabble [1]
Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Also you betcha he tells the whole story to Mamá Coco and she doesn't even think to question it, Daily Drabble, Family comes first after all, Gen, Honestly I just really think Miguel would tell them what happened to him, Rivera Family Goodness, This is a look at how that conversation might start--, Yeah I know it's not a drabble; somehow I doubt many of these will be, she's a sweetheart, with a kid who's clearly been through something strange and parents who just want to know he's okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 05:41:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15503535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calworks/pseuds/Calworks
Summary: Prompt: "Beethoven's 5 Secrets" by The Piano GuysSomething clearly happened to Miguel last night, and something's not adding up about it. His parents just want to understand. (Takes place just after Miguel returns home.)





	I Believe You

_(read on[tumblr ](https://calworks.tumblr.com/post/176485382246/daily-drabble-july-31-2018)or [fanfiction.net](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13019684/1/I-Believe-You))_

 

The Riveras don’t know where Miguel has been all night, or where he got that guitar, or how he knew about Mamá Coco’s papá, or where his jacket disappeared to. They don’t have a clue how their boy went from declarations of hatred to declarations of love in a single night. It’s clear that he’s exhausted, though, when he falls asleep during Mamá Coco’s stories, so Enrique makes the executive decision to save the questions for later. He sends the rest of the family away and carries his son to bed, Luisa and Elena following.

None of them want to leave Miguel’s bedside, irrationally afraid that their son will disappear again when they look away, but their own exhaustion eventually drives them to their beds.

The shoe shop is closed for the day. The Rivera family sleeps.

* * *

 

Elena sleeps fitfully—eventually, when the sun has risen so high that it no longer comes in through her window, she gives up trying and hefts herself out of bed. The hacienda is still, peaceful now that everyone has returned to within its walls—its second-youngest son, and, she reflects contentedly, its oldest daughter.

With that in mind, she decides to check on her mamá.

She’s across the courtyard when she hears it—gentle guitar sounds and voices, one bright and excited, one halting and sweet. Her instinct is to rush forward and silence the guitar, but the voices give her pause—Mamá Coco is talking to Miguel.

The door moves under Elena’s hand this time, to her relief; she nudges it open.

Mamá Coco sits hunched in her chair, and Miguel once more has that strange guitar in hand, fingers still for the moment as his grandmother finishes a story. Elena’s not sure what the story was about, but Miguel seems delighted. His smile stretches even wider when she asks him if he knows something called “Poco Loco.”

“Sí, Mamá Coco! I played it with your papá; he taught me a whole lot!” Then he tucks himself over that shining guitar and releases a string of chords that has Elena stepping back in surprise—so fast and coordinated. As he begins to pick out the complicated tune, it starts to dawn on Elena that her mijo—he knows what he’s doing.

The song he sings is silly and full of life, and he has eyes only for Mamá Coco as he sings about being crazy, being full of love, being happy—Elena doesn’t know what to think.

“Is that…Miguel?”

Her son’s voice behind her almost makes Elena jump; she turns slightly to see Enrique and Luisa staring in wonder at their son. Inside the room, his song leads into excited chatter about tap dancing (“he was doing this cool thing where he made the beat with his feet like—well, I can’t do it, but—”) while his fingers continue to pick out the same six notes over and over.

Mamá Coco smiles, wide and loving, as she responds to her great-grandson: “Si, I remember when he would do that. I used to be able to; he taught me how…”

“Really?! Wow! I’m gonna have to remember to ask him for lessons next time I see him…”

“Miguel?” Luisa’s tone is balanced on a line between stern and questioning.

Miguel spins around to face them so quickly, he almost falls on top of the guitar. “Ah—Mamá! Papá, Abuelita… This…isn’t what it…looks like?”

None of them quite know how to respond to that. They can tell that it’s exactly what it looks like—Miguel playing music and talking to Mamá Coco about her papá as if he knows him personally—but nothing about the situation makes sense. What to address first?

Enrique lays a hand gently on Elena’s shoulder; the look he shares with her says clearly that concern about the music needs to wait—questions, about what happened last night, come first.

“Miguel…” Luisa starts slowly. “Are you talking about Mamá Coco’s papá?”

Miguel shuffles uncomfortably. “Um… Sí?”

How to even respond to that?

“Where did you go last night?” Enrique tries to keep his tone gentle, devoid of accusation or anger. “We looked everywhere in Santa Cecilia, mijo.”

Enrique and Luisa know all of their son’s tells, and they can see his internal struggle—to lie or not to lie?

The expected nervous grin doesn’t come—instead, a worried frown. He seems afraid—afraid that they won’t believe him, Enrique realizes in concern.

“We’ll believe you,” Luisa promises, ever intuitive. “Just tell us the truth, and we’ll believe you.”

Miguel shuffles, face doubtful. “You promise?”

“We promise,” Enrique confirms.

After a moment, the boy must decide they’re sincere; his shoulders lose their nervous hunch and his grip on the guitar isn’t so white-knuckled.

“I…” He picks nervously at one of the guitar strings. “I sort of got stuck in the Land of the Dead.”

The only sound is that one, awkward note he keeps plucking. Eventually, he seems to realize it and pulls his hand away sharply.

Silence.

“…You don’t believe me,” he realizes, retreating once more into himself.

Enrique rushes to correct him, hating the way his son’s shoulders hunch and jaw clenches—“No, no, mijo, we believe you. We’re just—”

“Surprised,” Luisa finishes. “And…confused.”

They startle as Elena leaps forward and grasps his hands, leaving the guitar to hang on its strap. “Mi hijo, you visited our ancestors! How is everyone? Who did you meet?! What was it like?!”

Miguel blinks rapidly, eyes wide. “I, uh… I met Papá Julio first, and then Tíos Oscar and Felipe, and Tías Victoria and Rosita, and then I met Mamá Imelda, and then Papá Héctor.”

Elena’s smile, so joyous as he listed the familiar names, turns wooden at the last, and Miguel rushes to Papá Héctor’s defense. “No, no, Abuelita! Papá Héctor isn’t a bad man like you thought! He did try to come home to Mamá Imelda and Mamá Coco, but Ernesto de la Cruz murdered him before he could!”

“Who?”

“His partner! He needed Papá Héctor’s songs to be famous so he killed him and stole them, and Mamá Imelda never knew! Abuelita, we have to put him on our ofrenda next year, we just have to! He spent the last—I dunno— _hundred_ years trying to cross over to see Mamá Coco even though he wasn’t on any ofrenda—he loves her so much! And he saved my life like, four, no, five, no—a lot of times! And Mamá Imelda even forgave him!”

So much conviction in such a tiny body—Elena just can’t hold her anger in her heart any longer, watching him get so worked up. With a gentle laugh, she pushes his guitar aside and enfolds him in a warm, understanding hug.

“Okay, mijo,” she assures him. “It’s okay, I can hear you. I believe you.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This story stands alone, but it's the first of many! I'm starting a Daily Drabble challenge, in which I write a random drabble (sort of; just expect them to be short-ish) every day; my starting goal is a year. Honestly, there's probably going to be a lot of Coco... Stay tuned!


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